


The Things that Go Unseen

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Required to return to Hogwarts for his eighth year, Draco is just hoping to survive the year. His wand is limited to spells for classwork, his family's money has been confiscated, and his job prospects are dim. Enter Harry, who finds his hate for Malfoy transforming into friendship... and then possibly something more.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 23
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter One

This was going to be a shitty year.

Draco sighed and stared vaguely across the Great Hall, not bothering to fill his plate. The Golden Trio sat straight across from him, laughing and talking, but Draco studiously avoided eye contact. He knew there would be a show-down between them at some point, but he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. He was lucky that he’d missed it on the train.

In previous years, Draco might’ve been invigorated by a fight with Potter, but a lot had changed since then. Not only had his wand been stripped of defensive capabilities, but his friends hadn’t come back, either. He wished he could’ve stayed home, but the Ministry had come down hard on his family. His father was in Azkaban, his mother was staying with an old friend in France, and their assets had been stripped. Draco had “gotten off easy,” according to the Daily Prophet, but Draco didn’t really think that a useless wand combined with a mandatory year in a school full of people who hated him counted as such.

Intruding on Draco’s thoughts, McGonagall banged the Head Table with her goblet. “Attention, students.” Draco looked up. “I have announcements for the eighth years. All other students may now head to the dorms. Prefects, please lead the way.” Draco watched, disinterested, as the younger students filed out the Great Hall. When they’d left, he was the only student still sitting at the Slytherin table.

He looked back up at the Head Table, wishing McGonagall would go on and make her announcement so he could retreat to his dorm, where he would be safe from the stares from the other tables. Even if none of his friends had returned, Slytherin was still home.

Up at the Head Table, McGonagall rapped her spoon smartly on the edge of her plate. “Eighth years! Your attention, if you will. I have several announcements to make.” She waited until the students quieted, then began.

“First off, I’d like to welcome you all back to Hogwarts. I am pleased to see that so many of you were able to make it.” McGonagall smiled at the students, but Draco noticed that she avoided looking in his direction. “Secondly, I’d like to encourage every single one of you to help make this year a year of new beginnings, and that means inter-house cooperation. It’s time to leave silly prejudices behind us and replace them with something more wholesome. The war was formed out of hate, and it was won out of love. Let this be our chance to take that message to heart.”

Draco glanced across the hall, and was not surprised to see Granger listening raptly, eyes misty with emotion. Potter and Weasley, on the other hand, were wearing identical expressions of skepticism, and Draco sighed inwardly. While he sincerely hoped that McGonagall’s vision would become reality, seven years as a Slytherin had led him to believe otherwise.

McGonagall hadn’t finished. “In the name of inter-house unity, I’m pleased to announce a change that will affect you eighth-years specifically. Rather than put all of you into your House dorms, we have decided to create a fifth dorm specifically for the eighth-year students. It will function much like the House dorms, with a shared common room and dormitories separated by gender. I hope that all of you will take this change into stride, and use it not as a tool for division, but as a way to become closer to your peers. With that, you are dismissed. Mr. Filch will lead you to your dorms.”

A shocked murmuring filled the room. Draco’s heart was racing. Shared dorms? Tool for house unity? He’d be lucky if he was still alive come morning. Hands clammy, he stood and followed the other students out, attempting to maintain his façade of calm in the midst of his panic.

As their group climbed staircase after staircase, he kept his chin up and shoulders back, slipping easily into the same cocky swagger that had defined his younger years. This time, though, it was no more than a defense. As the others chattered around him, he felt himself slipping into a haze of dulled panic and overwhelming exhaustion. Finally, they reached a portrait of an old man with a silver-grey mustache, who was smiling benignly. Filch stopped in front of it, muttered the password, and the portrait sprang open to admit the students. “Password is ‘Crumple-Horned Snorkack,’” he announced, ignoring Luna’s pleased exclamation. They all clambered inside. “Room assignments are on the wall,” Filch said gruffly before exiting through the portrait hole, which swung shut behind him.

Draco had been the last to enter the portrait hole, so he now stood stiffly next to it, not wanting to join the crowd around the papers posted on the wall. He watched the crowd’s reactions – Potter and Weasley whooped in excitement (they must’ve gotten a room together. Typical). Granger smiled and high-fived Lovegood, then looped an arm through Parvati’s.

As students started to head upstairs, Draco moved in to look at the lists. He was craning his neck to see past Longbottom when a noise of outrage sounded less than a foot from his ear. He spun to see Michael Corner glaring at him, with Zacharias Smith at his elbow. Unnerved, Draco looked back at the list. There it was: Malfoy, Corner, Smith. Room B4. He swallowed, sudden fear coursing through his veins. Even Potter would’ve been better – he hated Draco, yes, but Draco had never seen such malice in Potter’s eyes. Draco spun on his heel, covering his fear with lofty disdain. He was a Malfoy! He would be fine. He would be fine, he told himself, repeating the mantra as he followed Smith and Corner up to their room.


	2. Chapter Two

Harry was… tired. Well, maybe tired wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t know how to describe how he felt. He was glad to be back – there was something reassuring in the familiarity of it all – but it felt different this time. He got a room with Ron and Neville, for which he was eternally grateful (when McGonagall had said it, he’d had a terrible vision of having to share with Malfoy), but it wasn’t the same as Gryffindor Tower. Maybe it was better that they weren’t in Gryffindor Tower. Ginny was probably pleased – they hadn’t exactly ended on good terms. A few weeks after the war, Harry had told her that he loved her, but that he just didn’t think he could continue with her. Ginny had yelled about how long she had waited, and he had agreed with everything she had said, but wouldn’t it have been crueler to keep leading her on? He still didn’t know. He wished he’d consulted with Hermione. 

*** 

Draco was not having a good time of it. He’d followed Corner and Smith to their room, but he’d only gotten as far as opening his trunk when Corner slammed the door shut and pulled out his wand. Smith mirrored the move. 

Draco looked up, mask still in place. He shrugged and held his hands up in surrender, trying to placate them. Beneath his cool exterior, though, his heart was racing. What was he supposed to do? He lived with them now! And how was he supposed to defend himself if he wasn’t even allowed to cast an Expelliarmus? He stood there, perfectly still, hands in the air in a silent surrender, wondering what they’d do next. 

He got his answer within seconds. 

“Petrificus Totalus,” spat Smith, jabbing his wand towards Draco. Draco felt his limbs snap into place, and he tipped backwards, head hitting the floor with a resounding smack. He lay there, remembering how he’d done this to Harry on the train in their sixth year. It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Corner locked the door with his wand. “Ron told me about how you did this to Harry,” he said, as if he’d read Draco’s mind. He sneered. “Think we should keep acting out the scene?” He didn’t wait for a response before he walked to Draco’s side and stomped on his nose. Draco felt it shatter, felt the blood dripping down his face, but it came with an odd sense of detachment. He’d done this to Harry. Didn’t that mean he deserved it? 

Corner kicked him in the ribs. Draco shut his eyes and stayed silent. He did deserve it. 

Smith sighed. “This is fun, don’t get me wrong. But I’m exhausted. Think we should turn in, mate? After all, we’ve got all year, don’t want to break him too soon, no?” Draco sighed inwardly, not wanting to admit to himself how relieved he was. The first day of classes was going to be painful enough – he didn’t need a broken nose _and_ broken ribs to contend with. 

“Yeah, ok,” Corner agreed, releasing Draco with a flick of his wand. “Until next time, Death Eater,” he said, then disappeared into the bathroom, sniggering. Draco got to his feet, trembling ever so slightly. He didn’t have any idea how he was going to fix his nose – his wand was restricted to spells that were on the coursework for the year, and they’d learned most of the healing spells the previous year. And he was too proud to go running for Pomfrey, especially at this hour. He settled for wiping away the blood, knowing he’d look dreadful the next day, but not finding much energy to care. 

Exhausted, he slipped under the covers, prayed to Merlin that he didn’t wake his roommates up screaming from a nightmare, and slipped into a restless sleep. 

*** 

“What the fuck happened to Malfoy?” Ron wondered out loud, squinting over his plate of eggs towards the Slytherin table. Harry followed his gaze and was shocked to see Malfoy sporting what appeared to be a badly broken nose. 

“No idea, mate.” 

They finished their breakfast in silence, but Harry kept sneaking looks at Malfoy. His injury looked pretty painful, but he was eating quietly, appearing to ignore the stares directed at him from all over the Great Hall. This didn’t fit with his usual self – thirteen-year-old Malfoy had milked his injury from Buckbeak for all it was worth – he wouldn’t have sat in silence like he was doing now. But then again, his friends weren’t there. He’d lost the war. It made sense for him to have changed. Still, it bothered Harry like a nagging itch. So many things had changed. Couldn’t he at least have the old rivalry back, just for the sense of normalcy? 

When breakfast was over, Harry and Ron had Charms, while Hermione was going to Arithmancy. On their way out of the hall, Harry passed Malfoy. Unable to resist temptation, and still pursuing that lost sense of normalcy, he called out “Hey, Malfoy! You’ve got something on your face! Did you get it to go with your Dark Mark?” 

Malfoy flinched as though Harry had struck him, but he recovered himself quickly. He sneered at Harry, pausing in the entrance to the Great Hall. “No, Potter, I got it to match your scar. I wanted to join your club. Great Saviour Potter, who wouldn’t want to join you?” he mocked, then pushed through the crowd towards Flitwick’s classroom. They were behind him – going to the same class. Fuck. He sped up, just wanting to get away, to escape the stares and rude comments that had been directed at him all morning. 

When he got to class, he took a seat in a back corner, praying that Potter and Weasley would take the hint and take the opposite corner. They did, and Draco whispered a silent thanks to Merlin. It didn’t last long, though. Corner and Smith came in next – of course – and took the seats closest to him. 

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite roommate!” Smith said, nudging Corner. 

“Isn’t he looking bright and fresh this morning!” 

Draco set his jaw and fixed his eyes on the front of the classroom. He wasn’t going to let them hurt him. He ignored their continued jibes, he ignored the curious look Potter sent in their direction, and he ignored the burning ache in his nose. Flitwick started class, and he lost himself in notes. 

The rest of Draco’s day proceeded without incident, until just after his last class. He was on his way to dinner, still thinking about Slughorn’s lesson as he climbed a staircase, when a Trip Jinx caught him from behind. Legs pulled from underneath him, he fell down half a flight of stairs before landing in an undignified heap, right at his attackers’ feet. Dazed, he pushed himself into a sitting position, taking note of the group of sixth years that was now sniggering at him. All of a sudden, he found himself in the air, dangling by one ankle. With a cry of shock, he began to struggle. He knew the spell to get down. Liberacorpus, he thought again and again, but then he remembered his useless wand. He stopped struggling, forcing a mask of calm over his features as his attacker circled. 

“You’re the reason my aunt is dead,” the boy said, his face darkening as he contemplated Draco. 

“I didn’t kill her,” Draco protested weakly, trying to fight back against the voices that told him the boy was right, it was his fault, he deserved all of this. 

“Liar! You were one of them!” The boy brandished his wand at Draco. “Silencio!” Draco moved his mouth, but he couldn’t make a sound. “Diffindo! Diffindo!” he spat, pointing his wand at random. Deep cuts opened, one on his ankle and one on his thigh. Draco looked about frantically, wondering what in Merlin he was supposed to do. 

Just then, Granger rounded the corner, talking animatedly with Luna. She looked up, and Draco watched her eyes go wide as she took in the scene. For a terrible moment, he thought she was going to turn around and leave him to his fate, but then she seemed to realize what was going on. Pulling her wand from her robes in a swift movement, she advanced on the group. 

“Let him down!” she cried, brandishing her wand angrily. The fifth year went pale as he realized who was threatening him. 

“He’s a Death Eater!” he protested, reaching over to yank Draco’s sleeve up. Draco yanked it back down to cover his Dark Mark, face burning. 

“I don’t care what he is. Let him go!” said Hermione, advancing threateningly. The fifth year acquiesced grudgingly, waving his wand carelessly at Draco. Draco tumbled to the ground in a heap, then scrambled to his feet, still flushed with humiliation. 

He had to save face. “I don’t need help from a Mudblood,” he said angrily, storming back up the stairs. 

Hermione stared at him for a moment in shock, then seemed to gather herself. “Fine,” she said coolly. “Next time I won’t bother.” 

Luna came up to her a moment later. “He’s not usually like that,” she said dreamily. “He’s usually much nicer.” 

“Oh yeah, to purebloods,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. 

“Not just purebloods. He was very nice to Dean and me last year.” 

Hermione gaped at her. “When you were imprisoned in his basement?” 

“Yes. He used to bring us food and come talk to us.” 

“He… what?” This was a complete contradiction to everything she’d known about Malfoy. 

“I think he was very lonely. And Bellatrix used to torture him in the same room she tortured you, you know. Anyway, I’m going to go say hi to Ginny. Bye, Hermione!” 

Luna turned down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower, leaving Hermione alone to her thoughts. She’d never thought Malfoy capable of human kindness, especially towards Luna and Dean. And he’d called her a Mudblood not ten minutes ago! For once in her life, Hermione was stumped.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!
> 
> I'm sorry about the violence in this chapter - I had to do it! It gets better, though! If violence bothers you, please skip the first part of the chapter.
> 
> This is my first fic, so the comments and kudos mean a lot!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Draco wondered if he could sleep in the library. It was warm and dark, and the chairs were oh so comfortable. Plus, Corner and Smith couldn’t touch him here. He was seriously considering the possibility when Madam Pince came along, waving her wand threateningly.

“Get out, boy! It’s ten minutes past curfew!”

He sighed and got to his feet. Gathering his things, he slipped back out into shadowy corridors, making his way back to the dorms. When he got there, he stood outside of the portrait hole for a moment, trying to steel himself for what he knew was coming. He took a deep breath, muttered the password, and climbed inside.

The common room was empty, which was a nice relief. He’d endured enough stares at dinner, especially with his nose still swollen and purple. Sighing, he climbed the stairs to his room and walked inside, chin still held high.

Smith and Corner were both sitting on their beds when he came in, but as soon as he shut the door, both of them grabbed their wands. Smith waved his wand lazily at the door, locking it, then cast a Silencio.

“You kept us waiting,” said Corner, lips twisting into a mocking pout.

“It must have been a hardship,” said Draco. “I know my company is unrivalled.” He feigned unconcern, pulling his pajamas out of his suitcase, but his heart was racing.

Corner lifted his wand, twirling it lazily, before suddenly pointing it at Draco. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Draco groaned as he felt himself keel over. They were so unoriginal.

Both of them walked over and stood over him, smirking in satisfaction. Corner kicked him hard in the stomach, and Draco gasped for air, unable even to curl in on himself. Smith knelt next to him, wand in hand. He muttered a spell under his breath, and the tip of his wand suddenly glowed red.

“I learned this spell over the summer,” he said, eyes focused on the glowing tip. “I’ve been waiting for something to test it out on.” A vicious look crept into his eyes, and he grabbed Draco’s forearm, pulling it hard towards him so that Draco was forced onto his side. He pushed Draco’s robes up, revealing pale, unblemished skin underneath – this was not his Marked arm. He held the wand above the skin, evidently deciding something, then brought it into contact with the skin.

Draco screamed. The pain was red-hot and concentrated, but the feeling of being burned spread up his arm. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the Cruciatus, but he knew that the injury was real this time.

Smith moved his wand agonizingly slowly – after a few moments, Draco realized that he was shaping letters. Not long after, Draco slipped into a sort of stupor, still screaming, but only half aware of the pain he was in. Finally, Smith finished with the words he was writing, and Draco gasped in relief, trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, we’re not done with you,” said Corner, pulling out his own wand. “Diffracto!” he said, pointing his wand at Draco’s ribs. Draco cried out, feeling a rib snap. Corner repeated it a few times, till Draco’s chest felt as though it was full of needles. Finally, Corner pocketed his wand. Draco stayed on the floor, sobbing silently.

“Oh, and you can stay there for the rest of the night,” said Smith cruelly, stepping over Draco to get to the bathroom.

Draco clenched his jaw shut, stifling a moan of pain. He would maintain whatever dignity he had left. Exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep.

***

The next morning, Draco woke up when Smith released him from the Bodybind. He got to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom, almost collapsing when the pain in his ribs hit him. He braced himself against the counter, pushing up his sleeve to see the words Smith had carved – Death Eater. Original.

As Draco made his way down to the Great Hall, he heard Potter and Weasley coming up behind him. He slowed, hoping to let them pass him. As they did, Weasley knocked hard against him, jolting his injured ribs. Despite his efforts to suppress it, an agonized gasp made it past Draco’s lips. Weasley was smirking.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Draco sneered and drew himself up haughtily, but he couldn’t summon the energy for a sharp retort. As the pair continued down the corridor, Potter glanced back, an expression of concern creasing his features. Draco was still standing there, trying to recover himself as waves of pain rolled over him. Deciding that breakfast was out of the question – his stomach was turning uncomfortably – he turned and went back to the dorms. He knew he should go to Madam Pomfrey, but he didn’t want to be seen like this – it was bad enough hearing people mutter “Death Eater” every time he walked through the hallways, and he didn’t need people to make fun of his injuries, too. Besides, he knew he deserved the pain – the words carved onto his arm weren’t a lie. He was a Death Eater.

Once he got back to his room, Draco collapsed onto his bed, feeling himself sink into a depressed stupor. What was the point of any of this? If he survived the school year, he’d get his Newts, and… then what? It wasn’t as though anyone was going to hire someone with the Dark Mark. He didn’t have two Knuts to rub together. Also, he suspected that his mother would need support – she didn’t have the documentation she needed to work in France, and besides, the war had wounded her. From her letters, it didn’t sound like she was coping well with Lucius’s imprisonment.

Draco sighed and rubbed at his eyes. There was nothing left to live for. The one person who didn’t want him dead was in France. He was trapped. He stared at the canopy of his bed, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He couldn't afford to pity himself, though - he had class soon.

Forcing himself to his feet, Draco left the dorms and headed to Arithmancy.

***

Hermione had a plan. If everything Luna had told her was true (and she’d never known Luna to lie), then Malfoy was not the cold, prejudiced bastard he’d always been. And if that was the case, then he was probably in desperate need of a friend.

When she got to Arithmancy, she glanced around the room – it was almost full, but Malfoy wasn’t there yet. Perfect. There were three empty seats – one next to Michael Corner, plus a pair of empty seats towards the back. Taking one of the desks near the back, she settled down. Now, all she could do was hope that he picked her over Michael.

A minute later, right as the bell rang for class, Malfoy walked in. His grey eyes swept over the room, taking in the empty seat next to Corner, and then the one next to Hermione. Hermione watched as his mouth tightened, and then as he swung towards her and sat down, nodding tersely. Hermione smiled in response, taking in his appearance.

He looked as neat as ever in the school uniform, with his hair neatly combed (so unlike Ron’s or Harry’s). But his nose was still swollen, and his face was creased – creased in worry? Anger? Pain? She wasn’t sure.

“So…” said Hermione, bouncing her knee nervously. “How’s it going?”

Malfoy looked at her incredulously.

“It’s going fine, Granger. What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Do you want me to heal your nose?”

“Do I… what?”

“Do you want me to heal your nose? I mean, since you probably can’t… I saw the article in the Prophet, you know, you can’t do magic except for classes…” Hermione was rambling.

Malfoy was still staring at her, confusion apparent on his face. “Um… ok?”

“Ok,” she said, and pulled out her wand. “Episkey.”

The swelling vanished instantly, his nose straightened, and Malfoy’s face relaxed ever so slightly. He felt his nose.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

***

Malfoy was bemused. He’d almost been late to Arithmancy, and then he’d had to pick between Granger and his tormentor to sit with. He’d picked Granger, expecting stony silence, but she’d seemed… friendly. And she’d healed his nose. He felt it again, unable to believe how easily she’d fixed it.

He was terrified for Corner’s reaction when he noticed, though. His nose would probably be broken again by the next morning. He sighed, trying to focus on Professor Vector’s lesson.

When the lesson was over and they were packing up, Granger nudged him… right in his ribs. He gasped, agony coursing through him, and clutched a hand to his side. Granger’s eyes widened.

“Are you ok?”

He couldn’t tell her. “Sorry. You just startled me,” he said, trying to make the words convincing. “What were you going to say?”

She eyed him in suspicion. “I was just going to ask if you want to come to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron and me next Saturday.”

Draco gaped. Had she gone completely insane? “What is going on, Granger?” he asked disbelievingly.


	4. Chapter Four

She eyed him in suspicion. “I was just going to ask if you want to come to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron and me next Saturday.” 

Draco gaped. Had she gone completely insane? “What is going on, Granger?” he asked disbelievingly. 

“Do you want to come to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron and me?” 

Draco just stared. 

Hermione huffed in impatience. “We could set a new example of inter-house unity.” 

Draco’s mind was racing. Was it a trap? But Hermione was looking at him expectantly, and he had to give her an answer. 

“Ok, I’ll come,” he said curtly, then spun on his heel and fled before she could say anything else. 

His heart was beating painfully fast. What had he just agreed to? And how on earth had she gotten Potter and Weasley to agree to that? 

Hermione was just wondering the same thing. How was she supposed to tell Harry and Ron that she’d invited their least favorite person for an entire day in Hogsmeade? She’d just have to tell them to deal with it – she couldn’t rescind her invitation! That would just be cruel. She nodded her head in resolve and headed to lunch. 

*** 

Harry was worried about Malfoy. He couldn’t stop thinking about the expression of agony on Malfoy’s face when Ron had bumped into him that morning, nor the way that Corner and Smith had been mocking him in Charms the day before. 

But this was stupid. He hated Malfoy. He was a bully and a bigot and a Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake. He didn’t deserve Harry’s pity. 

But then again, something about Malfoy had changed. He no longer strutted around the school, though Harry had noticed the way he lifted his chin in a display of superiority whenever someone said something rude about him within his earshot. But that was all it was – a display, a defense mechanism. At meals, he kept his head down and his eyes on his food, and he hadn’t even complained about the broken nose. 

When he walked into the Great Hall for lunch, still thinking about Malfoy, his eyes gravitated towards the Slytherin table. There he was, pointy face turned downwards, and… no broken nose? Had he gone to Pomfrey? Harry slid into a seat next to Ron, confused. 

A moment later, Hermione sat down across from them, looking unusually nervous. “What’s up, ‘Mione?” Ron asked, obviously noticing the expression on her face. 

Hermione pursed her lips, looking more worried than ever. “I’ve got to talk to you two about something,” she muttered, looking positively fearful now. 

Ron waved a hand for her to continue, tearing a chunk off his roll and dunking it into his soup. 

“I… I may have invited Malfoy to Hogsmeade with us on Saturday,” said Hermione in a rush, cheeks pink. 

Ron dropped the bit of roll he was holding into his soup. “You… you what?” he asked weakly, gaping at her. 

“You heard me.” Hermione’s cheeks were still pink, but her voice was steely. 

“What in Merlin’s name possessed you to do such a thing, ‘Mione?” Ron asked weakly, clutching the back of Harry’s chair for support. 

“He could use a friend,” said Hermione resolutely. “Three friends, if you two would set your prejudices aside for long enough to think it over.” 

Ron turned to gape at Harry. “Harry… have I gone insane? What is she thinking?” 

Harry was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Hermione watched him anxiously. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “I think it’s a great idea.” 

Hermione beamed. Ron’s mouth fell open, and he looked between the two of them, momentarily lost for words. 

“Everyone here has gone round the twist,” he declared solemnly, fishing his bread back out of his soup and gulping it down. 

*** 

Draco skipped dinner that night. He was still reeling from Granger’s invitation, still stumped as to what had possessed her to ask him in the first place. He’d called her a Mudblood not twenty-four hours beforehand! What could she possibly be thinking? 

Still lost in thought on his way to the library, he rounded a corner too quickly and crashed headlong into someone. 

“Malfoy,” said Potter. 

“Potter. Watch where you’re going, you idiot,” Draco managed, trying to subtly clutch at his ribs. 

“What’s wrong?” Potter asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“You. Always you.” Draco shoved past him and sped down the corridor, cheeks flushed. 

Harry stared after him, more curious than ever. Shaking his head – some people just couldn’t be understood – he made his way up to the dorms. 

When he got to the common room, he sank into an armchair, still puzzling over Malfoy. He was startled out of his thoughts when Ron clapped him on the back. 

“What’s up, mate? Care for a round of Exploding Snap? I was just about to join Zach and Michael in their room – Neville’s asleep in ours.” 

Harry shook his fringe out of his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. “Sure, be up in a sec.” 

Resolving not to think about Malfoy any longer, he followed Ron up to the room, where Michael already had the cards out, and tried to lose himself in the monotony of the game. 

*** 

This time, Draco left the library before Madam Pince could kick him out, wanting to avoid her glares. He was determined not to return back to the dorms, however – he didn’t need his nose broken all over again. Instead, he wandered up to the Astronomy Tower, praying that he wouldn’t meet Filch along the way. 

*** 

In the dorms, Harry and the others were on their sixth round of Exploding Snap, and Harry was starting to remember why he’d hated Zacharias Smith so much in their earlier years. Every time Smith made a snide comment – whether it was about the game, Ron’s freckles, or the texture of the carpet – Harry and Ron exchanged an exasperated glance, until finally Harry was over it. 

“It’s getting rather late, isn’t it?” he said abruptly, giving Ron a pointed glance. 

Instantly, Ron stood as well. “Right you are.” He yawned convincingly. 

Zacharias frowned. “It can’t be that late,” he said. “The ferret isn’t back yet.” He and Michael sniggered at the nickname. 

Harry stood there for a moment, and then it hit him. The ferret. Malfoy. Zach and Michael weren’t the only ones whose room this was – it was Malfoy’s, too. 

Ron looked suspicious. “Curfew’s at eleven,” he said, “and it’s nearly midnight.” 

“Maybe he got lost, he’s stupid enough,” said Michael, smirking. 

“Malfoy’s not stupid,” said Harry automatically, before his brain had time to catch up with what he was saying. 

The others stared at him. Ron shook his head, grabbed Harry by the arm, and pulled him out of the room and across the hall into their own room. “You need some sleep, mate, singing Malfoy’s praises like that,” he said matter-of-factly. “You sound just like Hermione.” 

Harry shook him off. “It was true,” he said stubbornly. “Malfoy’s not stupid. But I’m not singing his praises.” 

Ron looked at him for a moment, shrugged, and walked into the bathroom. “Whatever you say, mate.” 

*** 

The next morning, Draco awoke with a groan. He’d slept on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, and his back and ribs were protesting loudly. Adding to the symphony, his burned arm kept sending jolts of pain through his body. He didn’t want to deal with this. 

Draco forced himself to his feet. It was better than whatever he would’ve gotten if he’d gone back to the dorm, anyway. Picking up his bookbag, he stumbled off to find the nearest loo. 

When he walked into the Great Hall, Potter was walking out. Draco sneered automatically, heading over to the Slytherin table. 

“Malfoy, wait.” 

It was too early for this. Draco kept walking, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, annoyed. “What do you want, Potter?” 

“Where were you last night?” 

Draco stared at him. What business was it of his? “Sleeping, Potter. You should try it sometime, you look like shit.” He turned back around and kept going. 

“Why weren’t you in the dorm?” _How did Potter know that? Was he stalking him?_ “Are you stalking me, Potter?” 

Harry looked uncomfortable. “No. Never mind.” He spun around and walked out of the Great Hall, leaving Draco to shake his head in confusion and continue on to the Slytherin table. Potter couldn’t find out where he was sleeping – he might tell the professors, and then what sort of trouble would Draco be in? He couldn’t afford to get into any trouble this year – he was on probation, after all, and a single misstep could land him in Azkaban. The thought sent cold shivers down his spine. 

It was just then that he remembered his plans for Saturday – if he went Hogsmeade with the Golden Trio, Potter would have hours in which to pry. Well, he would just have to cancel. He had Muggle Studies with Granger that afternoon, anyway – he could just tell her then. 

Draco sat down at one end of the Slytherin table, trying to ignore how several younger students scooted away from him as he did. It was settled, then. He’d tell Hermione that afternoon, and then he could get some much-needed rest on Saturday, instead. Heart sinking for a reason he couldn’t identify, Draco pulled out his Arithmancy textbook and tried to focus.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I'm sorry it's taken so long to update - I've had exams the last two weeks. But I finished the last one this afternoon!!!!!! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!!

Malfoy had cancelled on her. Hermione wasn’t happy, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. Getting him to agree had been a long shot at best, she told herself, settling down in the common room to read. She would just have to take things a little slower. _I’ll talk to him when he comes in_ , she resolved.

Two hours later, it was past curfew, and she had a crick in her neck. Where was he? Sighing in frustration, she stared at the portrait hole, willing it to swing open. No such luck. She went back to reading, rubbing her neck in annoyance. Did he _want_ to get caught out after curfew? He was on probation, the idiot!

The clock had struck twelve when Hermione finally gave in. Gathering her things, she went back to her room, wondering what had possessed Malfoy to stay out so late.

***

Halfway across the castle, standing behind a tapestry as Filch searched the room, Draco was wondering the same thing. What on earth had possessed him to break curfew like this? His roommates were awful, but Azkaban would be worse.

Filch moved closer. Draco’s heart was in his throat, blood pounding in his ears. Mrs. Norris snuffled around the bottom of his tapestry. After what felt like ages, Filch moved away, leaving the room. Draco let out a breath, legs suddenly feeling very trembly. He slipped out from behind the tapestry, found a nook to settle down in (surely, Filch wouldn’t search the same room twice over), and was asleep within minutes.

***

The next morning, Hermione was not pleased to see Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, looking perfectly healthy, if a bit drawn and pale. That ruled out the possibility that he’d been in the hospital wing, didn’t it? So what business did he have to be out after curfew? While she’d thought that he had repented of his old ways, she was starting to get suspicious.

“What’s got you all in a huff?” asked Ron, leaning across the table to snatch a roll off of her plate.

Taking the roll back, Hermione answered without thinking. “I think Malfoy’s up to something.”

Ron gawped at her for a moment, then shook his head in disbelief. “’Mione, the war is over. You-”

Harry cut him off. “What makes you think so?” he asked Hermione, looking at her intently.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “He cancelled our plans for Saturday-“

“Thank heavens,” muttered Ron. Harry waved at Hermione to continue.

“And he didn’t come back to the dorm until after midnight, if he came back at all.”

Harry furrowed his brow, looking over at the Slytherin table surreptitiously. “So-“

“Hold on,” said Ron. “Hermione, why do you know this?”

Hermione went pink. “Well, after he cancelled Hogsmeade, I figured I’d wait for him in the common room so I could talk to him.”

Ron stared at her for a moment. “Hermione, this is bordering on stalking!” he exclaimed, brandishing his toast in excitement. “He’s _Malfoy_ , why do you even care?”

“Just because he’s a Slytherin doesn’t mean we should all hate him,” said Hermione, wiping her hands primly on a napkin.

“Sure, house unity is great and all, but why start with _Malfoy_?”

“Because he could use a friend,” Hermione said with finality, swinging her bag onto her shoulder and striding out of the Great Hall.

Ron looked at Harry, brows creased. “What’s up with her, mate?” he asked.

Harry jerked out of his stupor. “No idea. D’you think she’s right, though? About Malfoy being up to something? That’s two nights in a row he hasn’t been in the dorm.”

Ron looked at him, an expression of hopelessness on his face. “What is it with you two? He’s a twat, that’s all there is to it.” And just like Hermione had, he stood and walked out, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts.

Malfoy had to be up to something. But what? Voldemort was gone, Lucius was in Azkaban… none of it made sense. It felt like sixth year all over again. This time, though, Harry was going to figure it out in time to stop him.

***

That night, Draco knew he couldn’t risk staying out again. If he was caught by Filch, the consequences would be catastrophic. Instead, he stayed out until the last moment before curfew, hoping that when he finally got in, the common room would be empty, and he could sleep there.

When he stumbled through the portrait hole, exhausted from two nights of little sleep, he was jerked out of his daze only when a hand latched onto his elbow.

“What do you want, Granger?” he hissed, staring down at her.

“To talk to you.”

“I’m too tired for this,” he said, yanking his arm out of her grasp. Ignoring his protests, she grabbed his arm again and dragged him towards the sofas. “What the hell, Granger?”

She pushed him down into a seat and stood over him, arms crossed and glaring. With rising panic, he watched Potter stand up from a nearby armchair and move to Granger’s side with a matching expression of disgust. They were the only ones in the common room.

Draco tried to summon his old confidence. “As desperate for my company as you seem to be, I’m going to bed,” he drawled, trying to sound uninterested but not quite masking the tremor in his voice. He got halfway through standing up before Potter’s hand was on his chest, shoving him back down.

“We want to talk to you, Malfoy.”

“So she said.”

“Why weren’t you in the dorms the last two nights?”

“I was.”

“No, you weren’t.” This time it was Granger speaking, a cold expression on her face.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“It matters if you’re hurting someone,” said Potter icily.

Something inside Draco snapped. He wanted to cry. “Of course,” he sneered. “Saint Potter. What is it you want to hear? That I’ve been sneaking off to torture Muggles? Practicing up on my Dark Magic? Brewing potions to resurrect the Dark Lord?” He didn’t know when he had gotten to his feet, but he pushed past Granger, yanked his wrist from Potter’s grasp, and stormed up the staircase. When he got to the top, he pressed himself against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He’d been an idiot to think Granger wanted to be his friend. She just wanted to keep an eye on him. Watch the Death Eater, gain his trust, pretend to be his friend… Draco dug his palms into his eyes, fighting the tears that prickled at his eyelids. He could hear Potter and Granger coming up the stairs. Forgetting his plan to sleep in the common room, he slipped into his room without a second thought… into a fresh type of hell.

***

The next morning, Malfoy wasn’t at breakfast. Harry ate absent-mindedly, glancing up every time someone walked into the Great Hall. Finally, it was almost time for class, and Malfoy still hadn’t shown up. Harry went to class, suspicions growing.

Malfoy wasn’t at lunch, either. “Have you seen Malfoy today?” he asked Hermione.

She shook her head tersely, eyes sweeping the Slytherin table. “Think he’s avoiding us? Or up to something?”

“No idea.”

When Harry got to Potions, accompanied by both Ron and Hermione, he did a double take. Malfoy was sitting at the back of the classroom, eyes fixed on the textbook in front of him. Ignoring Ron’s muttered “Harry, leave it,” he strode over to Malfoy, standing over him until Malfoy looked up.

“What, Potter?”

“Why weren’t you at breakfast or lunch?”

Malfoy stared at him. “Are you stalking me?”

“What? No!” 

"Go fuck yourself, Potter." Malfoy bent over his book, ignoring Harry entirely. 

"Malfoy..." 

"You heard me. Your Mudblood is waiting." 

"Don't call Hermione that, you fucking bastard!" 

Malfoy smirked. "Just the truth, Potter." 

Harry stormed back over to his friends, fuming. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, while Ron shrugged helplessly. At the front of the class, Professor Slughorn began a lecture on the addictive properties of Dreamless Sleep, and Harry sank into his usual stupor.

***

Draco was having a miserable day. The previous night, after his encounter with Potter and Granger, Corner had taunted him incessantly until Smith got out of the shower, at which point they’d Petrified him (honestly, was that the only spell they knew?), given him a Muggle-style beating, and left him there for the night. In the morning, once they’d finally released him, he hadn’t had the stomach for breakfast, skipped his first period class, and decided lunch wasn’t worth it. He finally dragged himself to Potions, not wanting another absence on his attendance record, and Potter had taken the opportunity to heckle him some more. Draco had lashed out, saying a word he'd resolved to never say again in his life. He had thought it would make Potter leave him alone. And it had, hadn't it? Even if all Draco could feel now was disgust at himself. 

After his afternoon classes had ended, he knew he should really eat something, but he didn’t think he could face the Great Hall. Instead, he dragged himself back to the dorm, climbed into bed, and was asleep within minutes. Maybe they wouldn't bother him if he was already asleep.

***

That night in the common room, Harry sat down next to Hermione, who was focused intently on her essay. “I think we should give up on making nice with Malfoy. He seems to be just as much of a prat as Ron's been saying. I still can't believe he called you that,” he said.

Hermione stared at her essay for another long moment, absentmindedly chewing on the end of her quill, and then gave a deep sigh. “I think you’re right. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want our friendship, and I think we should leave it at that. We might want to keep an eye on him to make sure he's not up to anything dangerous, but that's as much as can be expected from us, I think.”

Harry nodded. “Glad that’s settled, then.” He stood and made his way up to his room, wondering why he felt so dismal. He’d been sure that the decision was the right one, but now he couldn’t explain why he felt like he was making a mistake. Resolving to put it out of his mind, he pushed open the door to his room, but paused when he heard an oddly muffled cry. It sounded as though it was coming from the room across from his. Turning, he decided to investigate.

*** 

Draco was having a bad time of it. He'd been rudely awakened when Smith had cast an _Incarcerous_ at him (wow, they did know something other than _Petrificus_!) and dragged him off of his bed. 

Now lying on the ground, wrists and ankles bound painfully tightly, Draco could only squeeze his eyes shut in dreadful anticipation. Smith knelt over him before casting _Diffindo_ repeatedly on his torso, creating deep cuts that stained his white shirt with lines of crimson. Glancing down at himself, Draco was reminded horribly of that sixth-floor bathroom, and for a dizzying moment he saw Potter bent over him instead of Smith. 

Draco was jerked from those painful reminiscences when Smith began to roll up Draco's sleeve, smirking when Draco winced as the material brushed his burned skin. 

"Looks like those are starting to heal," he murmured, running his fingertips along the marks. "I'll fix that for you." His wand glowed red-hot, and he began to trace it along Draco's flesh as he had before. Draco screamed once, but then the pain stopped. " _Fuck_ ," hissed Smith, glancing at the door in a panic. "I forgot _Silencio_..." 

As if on cue, the door burst open. Standing framed in the doorway was perhaps the last person Draco would have chosen to see him like this: none other than the Golden Boy himself. 

"Is everything ok?" Harry asked. "It's just, I heard a noise, and-" He cut off, noticing Smith kneeling over Draco, and didn't say anything else for a long moment. 

Draco stared at him, wondering what he'd do. Leave? Join Smith in tormenting him? Draco stared at Harry, silently willing him to walk back out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! I'll have the next chapter up ASAP


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